


Oath

by Miri Cleo (miri_cleo)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Possibly Unrequited Love, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 18:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri_cleo/pseuds/Miri%20Cleo
Summary: Brienne's legs ached from standing at her post in full, ceremonial armor for hours through the ceremony and the receiving line that followed. But she stood still, waiting, knowing she would not rest until she was told to stand down.





	Oath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna/gifts).

The broken throne room was empty now, and the sky was darkening overhead. But behind the throne, the sunset glowed brilliant red, leaving its occupant a shadow. Brienne's legs ached from standing at her post in full, ceremonial armor for hours through the ceremony and the receiving line that followed. But she stood still, waiting, knowing she would not rest until she was told to stand down. 

The throne was new, a masterpiece of wood--pieces from trees from each of the seven kingdoms--and it stood atop the slag of what had once been the iron throne. It was not easy to climb to the seat, but ruling Westeros was not meant to be easy. The ruined throne stayed because the way forward was only clear if they remembered how that way had been forged. The past was never just the past. 

"Ser Brienne."

Brienne straightened herself as she turned on her heel. Then she knelt, bowing her head low over her knee, taking off her helmet to hold it under one arm. 

"My Queen."

The sun finally dipped behind the ruined wall, and Brienne raised her eyes to see the flaming hair of her mistress in the fading light. She stayed on one knee as Sansa carefully made her way down. When her slippered feet touched the cracked floor, Brienne lowered her eyes again. She closed them when she felt Sansa's long fingers run through her hair. 

"I'm tired." Her voice did not betray that it was a bone deep weariness, but Brienne knew. She felt it too. 

"I'll escort you to your chambers, Your Majesty."

They walked side by side, Sansa's footsteps silent next to Brienne. The Queen's chambers were lit against the evening, but even the roaring blazes in the fireplaces did little to keep out the chill. This was not a winter place. And standing there in gray and silver and black with a direwolf sigil over her breast, Sansa looked as if she alone had brought the cold and snow with her.

Brienne wondered if her queen found satisfaction in walking the halls where she was once imprisoned, mistreated, and bargained with like a pawn in a game. Did she take pleasure in stripping away the trappings of those that had come before her to settle the crown's debts? Did she find comfort in making the Red Keep as simple, silent, and cold as her home?

Before her, cheeks aglow in the firelight, was not the girl who had ridden to King's Landing so many years ago. Brienne had never seen her then, and she found it difficult to imagine that her queen had ever endured the frivolities of childhood. 

"You've endured the weight of that armor all day." 

"In your service."

"Let me relieve you of your burden." Sansa's voice was quiet but not tender. And yet, Brienne's heart thrilled at the words. 

First, Sansa removed the gauntlets, delicate fingers working the buckles, loosening the straps before pulling them free. Then, she worked at the straps holding the pauldrons to the gorget and next the gorget itself. Sansa put each piece aside with care one might reserve for something fine and delicate. Brienne realized she was holding her breath as Sansa slowly lifted the breastplate away. Each piece came away, and soon, Brienne's heart dropped to see Sansa kneeling before her, removing the last of it.

When she rose, Brienne bowed her head, meeting Sansa's lips her own as Sansa stood on her toes. Even the passion of Sansa's kiss was restrained, and all the while, she worked her long fingers at removing Brienne's doublet. This, Sansa pushed away without the care she had reserve for Brienne's armor. And Brienne felt her skin prick into gooseflesh as a gust of wind made shadows dance across Sansa's face. 

"You're shivering."

"Winter has come, My Lady."

"And yet you face it."

"Yes." Brienne wanted to sweep Sansa into her arms and kiss her, telling her that she would face winter and its monsters a thousand times again for her. But she stood silent and rigid with the cold a reminder that love had little place in the life of a queen. Brienne's was a life defined by oaths, and this was one her heart could not break. 

Sansa turned, and Brienne began to work of undressing her. Where Sansa's fingers had been sure, her own fumbled. She would face a thousand winters, but the fine silks of Sansa's garments frightened her. Brienne had spent her entire life escaping the trappings of womanhood; yet, now she found herself entangled in a way she could not have anticipated. Night after night of these little intimacies left Brienne in quiet turmoil. 

Her queen trusted few--and with good reason. All that was behind them loomed large in the minds of Westeros and beyond. Sansa had followed the flames with the winds of the North at her heels. But there would always be those who mistook her for a girl, who tried to take advantage or worse. Brienne's duties were her own comfort and her own torment. There would be no lady in waiting for Sansa Stark. Brienne undressed her each night. Sansa dressed herself each morning. 

She drew in a breath at the sight of Sansa's naked skin. It remained ever beautiful, pale like snow but warm. Brienne followed Sansa to bed, still feeling less at home than the hard ground. The easy silence between them was more than routine. Sansa needed her, and that gave Brienne immense pride to counter her own desire. Sansa would not love her. 

It always felt as if she could not make her hands smooth enough, her touch gentle enough when she parted Sansa's legs, her own eagerness restrained. The bright curls between Sansa's legs were thick and coarse against Brienne's mouth. She relished the tang of Sansa's body, taking her time, breathing it in as she rounded Sansa's clit with her tongue. 

When Sansa came, it was silently, as always. Her body shook, head thrown back and mouth slightly open. There were nights Brienne would kiss her, nights where they would make love until they fell asleep in twisted sheets. But on nights like tonight, Sansa drifted into a heavy sleep, exhausted, haunted by dreams that Brienne wished she could wipe away. There were nights she stayed, holding Sansa in her arms, wishing for nothing more than to be asleep, away somewhere without the weight of responsibility and promises and the past. 

Brienne stood, letting the cold wash away childish fantasies before she slowly began to done her armor, each step painstakingly slow without the help of a squire. She would relieve the guard outside the chamber door. Because it was her post to stand and her oath to keep.


End file.
